If you’re not getting the title of this post, then you might want to watch the video in the previous post in order to get up to speed.  Anyway, in case you weren’t tipped off by the media maelstrom of hysterical insinuation, oversaturation, click-baiting rhetoric, certain cones of grave uncertainty, there’s a goddamn hurricane on kids!  Apparently, it’s really unfortunate that this storm is so disorganized, because you know, it makes it difficult to track its center.  Wait, did I say unfortunate?  I meant, fortuitous, because it helps keep everyone in a state of media-sluriping frenzy.  I mean, jesus, the storm’s potential track covers the entire state of Florida, which is to say that present info seems to be vague at best, then again, one of those 37 computer generated models has this thing landing RIGHT IN YOUR GODDAMN LIVING ROOM.  No, seriously, model #24 v1.2a is named, “Your Goddamn Living Room Tracker.”  Every time they show one of those computer model clusters, like 12 of them show the storm well off to the east of Tampa Bay.  One of them somehow miraculously ends up in Nebraska, and the last one does, in fact, show a track directly over Tampa.  Shockingly, this is the bright pink one.

As far as  I can tell, most of the reporting on any potential catastrophe sort of follows this model:

You might make it home safely today.

But there’s always a slight chance that 300 ninja paratroopers will suddenly drop from the sky and kill you.  Stay tuned to the Splog for all your ninja paratrooper coverage.

Whatevs.  Be ready.  And if they tell you to leave, then fucking leave; Rent-a-Center probably has insurance on that plasma anyway.

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So, first there was this story about how the St. Pete PD is getting nine new yet completely oldskool (read: not energy efficient) Crown Victorias for its fleet, which, you know, would be swell were it not for the fact that it conflicts with the Mayor’s direct statement that, as a part of the larger greening of St. Pete, the city would no longer be buying those gas-guzzling things.  Apparently those sorts of things, while more or less routine, are supposed to be voted on, but, you know, why let something like actual authorization get in the way of placing the order for the cars?  No one’s gonna care, right kids?  No one except Karl Nurse, who was all like “slow your roll, council folk”, but they were like, “Oh shit, Karl, it’s too late man!”  Brilliant.  There’s kind of a bright side, though, I mean, for the most part, the silhouette of a Crown Vic has been burned into our brains at this point, so even catching one in your peripheral vision sends a quick message to your brain along the lines of “stop driving like a douche for a second!”  Yeah, it would definitely suck getting pulled over out of nowhere by a Honda Fit.

In other shitty green news, apparently the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Department is reporting the seizure of 1.5 tons of marijuana in a recent drug bust.  Wait, wtf?  1.5 tons of weed?  Man, it’s already getting more and more difficult to live here and have a positive attitude and now you’re telling me I have to do it without the aid of pot?  Well shit.  Prepare to see a rapid increase in violent crime, punctuality, and in the number of AA degrees actually completed at your local junior college.  Also, prepare to see a swift downturn in the local fast food economy.

Let’s try to wrap our heads around this tragedy with the Splog’s handy dandy guide to the Black Thursday Hugh Jass Pot Bust of ‘08.

Smallest unit of pot measurement = 1 gram.

Generally, 1 joint is approximately 1 gram.

1 Ounce = 28 grams.

16 ounces in a pound = 448 grams.

2,000 pounds in a ton = 896,000 grams.

1.5 tons = 1,344,000 grams, or

1,344,000 Joints

Now, I’m sure I’m going to get a bunch of emails from a bunch of stoners with a newfound sense of arithmetic clarity who will want to splt seeds over how much is in a joint.  I don’t care.  You get the idea.  Also, not that the enforcement agency in question would ever exaggerate the size of a bust, but 1.5 tons?  Are you counting the people you found on the couch in the houses you raided?

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As we all know from watching those ubiquitous Cymbalta ads with that adorable golden retriever being neglected by its owner who is, you know, like totally bummed out about living in a huge house on the beach with craftsman quilts and white wicker furniture, depression hurts, people.  It hurts you.  It hurts me, and it probably hurts that dog you keep in a vented bag and take on the fucking airplane with you.  It hurts the Splog, too, which, incidentally, I also take on planes with me in a little vented bag.  Isn’t it cute?

Am I depressed?  Not really, but it says a lot when you’ve been reading about, seeing and/or being affected by a bunch of totally lametastic local crime bullshit when it takes the wind out of the sails on your proud, intrepid little ROFLboat - the S.S. Lulz, if you will.  Not even making fun of people’s crappy websites brings me joy at the moment.  I may have finally found a use for the word inconsolable.

In the past month, I’ve been witness to a comically botched purse snatching outside the Independent (seriously, it was that dude’s first day, clearly), had my shit stolen from a rehearsal studio, and now, in amongst the usual daily flow of “‘Man stabs other man in spleen over 12 pack’, ‘Gator wrasslin’ granny mauled by neighbor’s pit bull’, and ‘This just in: Forbes says Florida still pretty much sucks at everything’”, there’s this nasty robbery and assault at The Table downtown.  What the shit?

What Casey says is true.  It might be time for an exodus, or at the very least, one long-ass road trip.  Sadly, with the economy the way it is, and with gas prices as high as they are, this may not be an option for many people, which is why I was really happy to find the following footage shot by someone driving out of town.  No, seriously, it’s five minutes of some dude driving North on 275 to the bittersweet rock anthemic sounds of the new and recently made one fifth Phillipino, Journey.

What the shit? Awesome. It’s oddly mesmerizing. Immerse yourself, and just imagine all the new beginnings on the horizon. Well, imagine them until you realize that you totally virtually forgot to drop your apartment keys off with your landlord, and then totally virtually drive yourself back home. Good thing there’s a video going in the other direction:

Crisis averted.

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Uh, yeah.  Audio Labs rehearsal space over at 2101 W Hillsborough Ave got broken into at some point last night/early this morning.  How do I know this?  I have my finger on the pulse of the Bay Area’s criminal underworld, that’s how.  Those of you who know anything about the ultra white hot post-rock scene in this city probably also know that Audio Labs is the home of Petrograd in Transit, as well as a whole crapload of other good Tampa bands.  Well, ok, there’s the requisite overabundance of Cookie Monster Brutal Viking Metal bands in there, too, but I guess a crime like this makes us all brothers and sisters.  Or something.

Somewhere around nine rooms got broken into.  Cut locks.  Broken doors.  And one sad, mostly useless surveillance camera more or less put out of its misery.  I don’t know everything that got stolen.  My beer got stolen, for starters.  One thing I do know for sure that was stolen was Petrograd in Transit’s bass player’s bass.  This is no ordinary bass, people.  It’s a vintage Kramer bass with an aluminum neck and a split headstock.  That shit is space age, and it looks exaclty like this:

Since I know like 75% of our readers run pawn shops and music stores, please be on the lookout for this bass.  Alternately, if you happen to spend a lot of time playing Wii Fit with your tweaker neighbor and you see this thing on the floor of his double wide, punch out his one remaining tooth and bring the bass back to the studio.

There’s a special ring of hell reserved just for people who steal from musicians.  It smells like burnt popcorn all the fucking time, and you’re damned to spend eternity head first in G.G. Allin’s ass (which, incidentally, also smells like burnt popcorn).

Jesus, Tampa; this is why we can’t have nice things.

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Today’s great moment in local Craigslist ads is brought to you by Bernard, an older classic rock drummer, who apparently missed his true calling as a comedian, and has settled on Craigslist as the stage upon which he chooses to exercise his irrepressible talents.  Just a taste:

I’m not doing this for side money to hide from the wife, if I had one, or to pay the rent, or to escape from the wife and have a few beers. I’m doing this for pride in a job well done, for fun, for sheer pleasure, sort of like having really, really good sex, although i forget what thats like. It’s kind of like having a Musically Transmitted Disease, and wanting to give it to everybody else!?

Um, eww.  Holy crap.  Is this thing on?  Can you imagine spending five minutes in a room with that guy?  Well if you can, and you like to make music that sounds like Cream and Melissa Etheridge, you need to contact this dude.  For reals.

Gooder Druhmmer Uh-vail-uh-bull! Iz that Spelld Write??! (tampa area)

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It’s bad enough that you drive that thing, but a crappy turning radius isn’t an excuse for lazy ass parking.  Back it up and try again, sparky.  Maybe next time spring for the model that comes with an entire airplane landing crew.

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I’m sure that none of you needs reminding that every time you masturbate, God kills a kitten.  It’s really a horrible thing, and seriously, you should be ashamed of yourself.  Do you know why mommy and daddy fight?  It’s because you touch yourself.  Global warming?  You and your fapping are to blame.  It’s no wonder that an act with such far-reaching ethical and climatological implications would drive one man to bring the enforcement of God’s masturbation policy to Florida.

It’s true; Clearwater resident James P. Gilley is accused of killing two kittens by throwing them to the ground.  It’s all right here.  The mugshot goodness is here,  You’ll note that the dude was apparently booked the night before on domestic battery charges.  Apparently, according to Jimbo there, you can beat on your wife, but don’t let him catch you beating anything else, or he’ll . . . well, you know.

What’s most disturbing about this story?  Well, according to the ironclad logic of Internet memes, this means two things.  Bay area residents really need to step it up in the spanking department, and, ZOMFG:

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You know, we get a lot of tips around here. There’s a lot of WIN in St. Pete, and people like to send us emails pointing that out to us. There’s nothing we do better than pointing out what’s right with St. Pete. Well, ok, we do some of that, and I swear we’re trying to get better at it. Anyway, it would be physically impossible to write posts about all the crappy local websites we encounter on a daily basis.

Every now and again, though, we get sent something special. Take the site for local technology-related something or other business CCID Technologies. Seriously, go check that shit out. I love this site. What’s great about the interwebs is that sometimes people just leave shit up that’s been there since 1997. I remember 1997 fondly. It was back then that putty-colored things in the IT world meant “serious business,” and when having a site that was black, white, and red meant that you were probably trying to subtly suggest that you were somehow allied with CompUSA, which also meant: Serious business - serious enough for you to grab a photo of a serious-looking putty-colored set up with three high tech CRT monitors and use it as your site banner. If you were rocking a three CRT set up in 1997 it definitely meant “serious busines.”

I’m not going to lie. I was there, and this site takes me right back and makes me feel a little nostalgic. I’m so glad this has stayed up since 1997. Wait, what? Copyright 2005? Oh. Well maybe the site’s been up since 1997 and they just updated the copyright info. Hmmm, apparently not. A look here shows that the code snippet they used in their banner to show, you know, that they code mad CSS is from a Myspace theme. Wow. You know, seriously, nothing says “check out my ninja coding skills” like a snippet from a Myspace theme. The fact that the background image is hosted at ImageShack is really just icing.

I just can’t stop myself sometimes. Ahem. Those of you watching at home will notice that the menu is composed entirely of individually rendered Flash animations. No, seriously, there’s a separate .swf for each tab. Why did I never think of that? Click here if you’d like to go home. Dude, your house is HUGE.

At least the logo says TECH. Serious tech.

Wait a minute. Where have I seen that font before? Oh, right.

Serious android tech. I knew that site was designed by robots. Who else would greet you with, “Welcome valued individual”?

I sense serious win in the font sector. What do you guys think?

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Holy shit. My favorite incipiently type 2 diabetic sex slave contractor is in the news again. You know, Master Drew, aka Andrew Kobak, aka Heatmiser, aka Lunchbox, aka that guy who lured a mentally-disturbed 19 year old down to Florida in order to make her his sex slave. This story bothered me so much that I had to write about it twice (here, and here). Seriously, that dude owes me some space back in my brain. That shit is at a premium to begin with at this point, and personally, I’d rather continue to be able to rattle off the name of every Ramones drummer than have instant recall of the sixteen felonies with which Kobak was charged. Marky, Richie, Elvis . . . aw, nevermind.

Anyway, yeah, Drewballs apparently plead out of the charges against him. Wait, what? How the fuck does that even happen? The last I checked, just sitting on the prosecutor until he or she cries uncle doesn’t really cut it in the realm of plea bargaining. Did he name names? Maybe he’s just really persuasive, I mean, he is a Master, after all.

I think there’s another reason entirely. We here at the Splog got sent an exclusive scan of a section of the “contract” betweem Kobak and his victim. Check it:

Do you see what I see? That’s right. Comic Sans, bitches! No contract written in Comic Sans can be binding. I rest my case, your honor.

Seriously, I’m starting a petition to change the Florida state tree from the diseased Sabal Palm to the FACEPALM. *zing* I’ll be here all night. Try the veal. *facepalm*

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On the fourth Blissday of every month, the Whos gathered around the magistrate for a lesson in social etiquette.  It had been this way as long as anyone could remember.  None of us ever wanted to be cornered by the magistrate, but it was bound to happen one day, and it usually went something like this:

“And you, Danny Who.  What would you do if a Wimbush bumped into you?”

“I’d befoozle her slimper, and then I’d blatten her crumper!”

Turning to the other child, the magistrate asked, “And you, Franny Who, what would you do if you were Bumped by a Bumpers?”

“I’d weefle her blosten and smidgen her woofus!”

Or, if you’re Pamela Bumpers, who did in fact Bump into a Wimbush, Jacqueline Wimbush to be precise, maybe you’d just start a fight and bite off the tip of her finger.  Like, ouch.  Just the tip, though.  Ahem.  Remind me not to take any risky plane trips over the Andes with Pamela Bumpers.  I have to say, however, this is really a step up from her previous arrests for driving on a suspended license.  It’s a step down for her hair, though.  It looked a lot better when she got booked in February.  Oh no I didn’t.

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PROTIP: If you’re going to drive like a complete asshole, it’s probably best to not do it in a car that’s got your cute little business logo and URL slapped on the back of it.  Adding a vanity plate with your business name on it is really just compounding the problem.  Having that plate actually be the Florida John Lennon “Imagine” plate adds a dimension of absurdity to all this that makes my head hurt.

So yeah, here’s looking at you, owner lady of Qrubini.com.  The last time I saw you, you and your professional entitlement mobile - also known as a silver Cadillac DTS - were riding my ass on 275 and FLASHING YOUR FUCKING LIGHTS at me in what I imagine was a morse-coded request that I either a) begin ramming the car in front of me so that I could create enough space for you to get to THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD on time, or b) side swipe the car next to me in order to get myself in a position to let you pass me so that you could, again, get to THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD.

This was on Sunday.  You remember Sunday, right?  It was raining.  Hard.  I was trapped under a balcony in Ybor for part of that storm, and it was raining and gusting so hard that the beads left over from the 4th festivities were being blown off balconies.  That’s right.  It was raining fucking mardi gras beads.  It continued to rain that hard most of the day, and that includes my little jaunt on 275 where I was going about 72 in a 65, which, while I’m no NASCAR enthusiast, seems to me to be a decent speed to be traveling in the left lane in the middle of a torrential downpour.  I guess THE MOST IMPORTANT SMALL BUSINESS OWNER IN THE WORLD didn’t think so.

Whatever, she finally fucked off down the road where I was able to watch her terrorize virtually every car with which she came into contact until she forked east off towards downtown.  That’s the best part.  That’s where I was going, and I ended up behind her at a light no less than fifteen seconds off her pace.  I guess all that light flashing paid off.

You should go check out her website.  I think you win a prize if you can actually find a business model.  This is my favorite part:

At QRubini our mission is to create a brand/label that is synonymous with a worthy lifestyle.  The adventure started with the design of a versatile logo, a logo that will be placed on a number of worthy products.  We believe as the world becomes smaller via technology and the globalization of trades, people will become more connected to the true flow of their money.

That’s some deep, meaningless shit right there.  Also, never underestimate the importance of coming up with a quality logo before you figure out what it is that you do.  Don’t miss this page, either, where whoever runs this thing has some “Ideas for Self Improvement (things to do to increase your patience level).”  No, seriously.

Whatever, I think the business is something about dresses that make little girls feel good that may or may not involve the exploitation of Nicaraguan seamstresses.  I’m glad to see that there seems to be a charitable component to the whole enterprise, because the person who runs it probably creates a vortex of karmic suck every time she gets in a car.

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What is it?  It’s GTA St. Pete, that’s what.  What master of overly compressed video clip art awesome do we have to thank for this?  This guy, who’s either a complete and utter genius, or he’s been eating lead paint chips since the age of seven.  It’s kind of a toss up, really.  In any event, remember kids, don’t huff gas.  Holy shit, don’t huff Axe Body Spray either.  The Intertron tells me this is a problem.  Wait what?  Yes, it’s so serious that the Axe site even responded with its own anti-huffing ads.  Axe would also like to remind you not to light yourself on fire, kids.

And just for shits, here’s a moment of St. Petersburg Pelican zen:

I for one welcome our pelican overlords. Seriously though, who hasn’t been to the pier and seen this in action and then been forever tormented by nightmares involving deadly pelican mobs? I can’t be the only one.  I don’t trust those birds.

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I’m not a huge fan of cross posting.  I mean, there are a lot of people around town who self identify as bloggers for whom cross posting seems like a truly legitimate Internet business model.  There’s nothing better than thinking you can get something for nothing except thinking you can get something for nothing without having to leave your house.  I’m sorry your pyramid scheme didn’t work out.  Yes, try blogging!  Better yet, start a blog about your MLM/Network Marketing scheme.

Anyhoo, long-standing Tampa icon of generally spazzy dance cool, Jeremy Gloff posted this over on his Reax blog, and it’s so freakin’ hilarious, I had to share.  Messing with the christians in Ybor?  Pure comedy gold.

I loves me some live-action Rickrolling. Oh yeah, did you know that Reax has a crap ton of blogs on its site?  It’s true.  You should go read them.  Some of them are swell.  Original content, too.  Shocking.

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Gay pride is in the air; in fact, it’s been in the air all month, seeing as how June is pride month.  It seems to me it’s had a little lower profile this time around in the media.  I can’t figure out if that’s a good or a bad thing.  You might remember that last year we got to deal with everyone’s favorite brimstone-spewing megaphone jockey, Larry Keffer, and there was a lot of discussion of free speech zones, all of which, of course, somehow magically elicited lots of feisty, raving anti-sodomoy bursts from Larry Keffer.  I swear that dude captured a Google bot and keeps it somewhere in his basement.  That dude will comment on your blog before you’re even done writing.  Oh, that reminds me: HEY BUDDY!  Now make with the Leviticus.  I’m still a little unclear on that shellfish thing.

I don’t know, maybe the protestors are keeping it on the DL this year, since a bunch of them who came down here in their creepy church van from Georgia were just found guilty of violating a city ordinance for having signs that exceeded a certain allowable width.  According to the ordinance, signs can’t be wider than the carrier’s torso.  Rad.  See, now this is one of those moments where the absurd literalism of the law can actually be used for good.  Had the ordinance had anything to do with the actual content of the signs, well then you’d have a free speech issue on your hands.  No, however, as the ordinance states, it’s just about public safety and ensuring that people are able to walk freely around you, your bible, and your silly sign.  You know, public safety, and ok, maybe an eensy weensy little bit to do with keeping jackasses away from the proceedings.  Unofficially, of course.

Why not fight a technicality with a technicality?  Are you morbidly obese?  Do you hate gay people?  Can you carry a sign?  Awesome!  The van will be by your house at noon.  Bigger torso.  Bigger sign.  Ahem.

The other startling news this year?  Mayor Baker will again neither be endorsing, nor attending the parade tomorrow.  Why the latter?  It appears his office never got the email invite.  Sure buddy, sure.  Jesus built my spam filter.

You love a parade, and it’s tomorrow, June 28, at 10am.  Be there.:

Details here and here.

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Not to beat a dead flag into the ground, but all this recent talk about the hugh jass confederate flag really did get me thinking about the south rising again, and just how smelly and decayed it would be; well, and then there would be its inexplicable desire for BRAAAIIIIINNNNNSSS.  Thankfully, Troma produced this delightful educational film on How to Survive a Zombie Confederate Uprising.  Whew.

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